Fragmented
by FatedFeathers
Summary: PREQUEL-ESQUE companion story for Unspoken. Rec: read after Unspoken. Can be read as a stand-alone. Quote: "Rebecca waits for something to break. She burns for it daily, and now they're out of time."
1. Preface

_**Disclaimer**__**: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The things I put some of them through here, only I am to blame for. Proceed with a bullet-proof heart and a strong head. This is not for impressionable minds. 18+ only, please. You have been warned.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Preface<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.  Norman Cousins_

* * *

><p><strong>o~*iii*~o<strong>

_**La Push, June 2003**_

_They say you don't know what you've got until it's gone. _

Rebecca doesn't agree with this; she knows exactly what she had, and she didn't need for her heart to be torn in two, nor to be stripped down to her bones. Bones that are raw and ache because a part of her that dwelt there—was meant to _be_ there—was ripped away.

Six months have passed, and the pain isn't less. If anything it gets worse.

Try as she might, she can't be . . . can't do . . . what she's supposed to. At least it's summer break and she doesn't have to hide slips from the teachers; though in a small community such as this, it gets back to her parents either way.

She wakes in the morning to a fluffed up pillow and a too neatly made bed. Rachel never made her bed, so Rebecca doesn't understand why her parents feel the need to keep clean sheets that smell of lily (the fabric softener her mom uses) when they always smelled of the cookies they hid under the pillow that _used _to have an indent.

It's fluffed up all the same.

The bedspread is stretched across the unused mattress either way.

"_She's gone. Can we just get rid of the bed?"_

"_What if your friend stays for a sleepover? An extra bed can always come in handy-"_

"_It's _Rachel's_ bed, but she's gone. _Gone_!"_

Her parents don't understand her. And Ephraim only sits in his room with headphones blaring music, and when he isn't killing his braincells, he's hanging out with his two best friends, Quil and Embry.

Rebecca's best friend isn't there to argue with anymore. Nobody makes her cry, apart from herself. No one is there to think up stupid ideas with, like putting their mom's bra on Ephraim's head and telling him it's flying goggles, or hiding him in the washing machine (though he is way too big for that now). Rachel will never have a boyfriend, and Rebecca will never get to chase him down with their dad's crowbar when he dumps her for pushing him too far. (Though that is something Rachel would do, as Rebecca is too much of a coward.)

No ambition is worth striving for when she can't share it with Rachel. Even breakfast is daunting, as no one steals the pink Froot Loops (not because Rachel liked them, but because it irritated Rebecca). Ephraim offers, but it isn't the same.

Nothing will ever _be_ the same. Never, ever again.

**o~*iii*~o**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note:<em>**

_Thank you_**_ **Cretin **_**_and_**_ **MeraNaamJoker** _**_for proofreading this for me. So much love._


	2. Part One: Hush

_**Disclaimer**__**: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The things I put some of them through here, only I am to blame for. Proceed with a bullet-proof heart and a strong head. This is not for impressionable minds. 18+ only, please. You have been warned.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Part One<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Hush<strong>_

* * *

><p><em>Run your fingers through my soul. For once, just once, feel exactly what I feel, believe what I believe, perceive as I perceive. Look, experience, examine, and for once; just once, understand.  Unknown_

* * *

><p><strong>o~*iii*~o<strong>

_**La Push, Christmas 2003**_

"Open your present, Becca." Ephraim looks at her and waits for her to take the small, flat rectangular shape. All she sees are the tiny cherubs on the wrapping paper, then bursts into tears. He says nothing and places it next to her.

She doesn't open any presents at all. There is only one set. No two of the same.

Sarah Black holds her daughter, and Rebecca doesn't pull away like she has up until now; she just doesn't have it in her anymore. If she runs to her room (_her _room, not _their _room anymore) she will cry and cry and feel horrible, and so will everyone else. So she stays, because at least her mom doesn't feel bad for not being able to do something. (It doesn't help her, but it helps her _mom_ to feel like she makes a difference.)

She tries. She really, really does. But it's just not the same.

When she goes to sleep that night, all she can do is stare at the empty space where a bed used to be. Just stare. Nothing else.

She decides it's better than seeing ghosts and shadows playing on the walls, or phantom sounds crawling into her ears or non-existent smells tickling her nose.

The empty space reflects truth. The truth that makes the void in her burn with longing. Like a festering wound itching to close, yet unable to as the emptiness calls out to be filled, constantly preventing the scabbing-over to take root.

So she stares and she burns.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**La Push, January 2nd 2004**_

One year has passed. Today.

Rebecca leaves her bed before anyone wakes and runs through the sleet all the way down to the beach where they find her hours later, trembling and drenched to the bone. Not even winter's rain can smother it.

She still burns.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**La Push, May 2004**_

Paul Hicks takes Rebecca to the prom. She says yes only because she doesn't know how to say no. She wants to, but the word "Yes," leaves her mouth anyway. All the time, even when she isn't sure what the question is.

It happens again, later, in his room. (When he asks her to come over, she agrees.) He wants to touch her _there_, and she consents. It doesn't take long before she fights tears behind closed lids, under damp skin on skin.

She not only burns, she bursts into flames.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**La Push, July 2004**_

Rebecca finds her niche, and figures out that playing with fire is the only thing that can outdo the burn. Paul helps her with this, and frequently. Wherever and whenever.

Until one day, she finds him on the beach, lighting matches with a girl with sun-kissed skin, pale hair and pale eyes. Something else besides the ever present heat rises up, but still she can't say what she wants. All she does is stare. Like she stares at the empty space in her room.

His eyes finally find hers and a sliver of cold shoots through her, after which she turns and runs. She sprints the entire length of First Beach and into the house where she finds her mom and dad arguing. Again.

Her fault. It's all her fault.

That night her hands shake as she tries to kindle the fire by herself, but she fails at this, too. Of course she does. She can't do anything right. So she turns and watches strange patterns on the walls. The moon paints shadows for her with swaying branches in the storm outside her window.

Inside, a hurricane rips her open.

She _is _the fire.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**La Push, Christmas 2004**_

Two identical presents (two of the same one she declined last year) sit under the tree. Ephraim takes the one with slightly scratched paper and squashed ribbon, the other he places next to her.

"It's bad again, huh?" His eyes are wary and she sees how she hurts him _so much _and _all the time._

"It's okay," she says and picks hers up to perch on one knee. Quietly she whispers, "Thanks, Rimmy." He only wants to help. She needs to stop. At least, she needs to stop hurting her brother. It's not his fault, it's not her mom's fault or her dad's, either.

So she holds back and pushes down and chokes. For them.

It's a diary.

"I sing when it's a crappy day, but you're quiet . . . so write it," Ephraim suggests. He is only ten (almost eleven), but so much stronger and wiser than she, and she is fifteen.

She's stunted; stuck beneath something that's unchanging, ugly and sick inside.

Ephraim opens his to reveal an identical notebook, gives her half a smile and promises, "I'll write, too, and show you. My head's boring, but . . . if . . . We don't have to," he hurries to finish when tears well up and blurs the panic on his face.

"It's a great idea," their mom says, "isn't it, Billy?"

Too much._ You try too hard._ "Yeah," she agrees at the same time her dad does.

For them.

For Ephraim.

When she goes to bed she squeezes her eyes shut. For a long moment, until she can't anymore, she tries not to stare. She's on fire again, but instead of burning she pours the hot ink onto blank pages and hopes they don't turn to ash.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**La Push, January 2nd 2005**_

Two years have passed. Today.

There is no rain, no sun and no Rachel. She wonders when she will disintegrate, as the blaze deep within just _doesn't stop._

But instead of giving in, she writes. And writes.

A knock makes her pause, and Ephraim's voice carries through the wood. "Can I come in? I wanna show you something. . . ."

_It's not the same. _"Okay," she quietly calls out, in spite of the _no no no I don't want to_ in her head.

Rebecca shoves her ugly words under her pillow and sits up stiffly. She waits while he hovers, and realizes her face tells the truth she can't form with words. Still she lies, "It's fine, come here," and pats the spot next to her.

_That's Rachel's spot. _

Ephraim eyes her with that wary expression, but approaches slowly, as though she is a wounded animal who might bolt at the slightest, unexpected or sudden move.

"It's kinda mean, but, uh . . . Look if you want."

_Truth. _So she reads.

oi~oOo~io

_You hurt. I do too._

_It sucks. I can't change it, but I wish._

_Sorry I make you mad, I don't mean to._

_Remember? You have something I don't._

_Words. Laughs. Stupid jokes. Thoughts that you both thought and I was out._

_Don't forget._

_I miss her too. _

_I'm still here, while you disappear._

_So don't._

oi~oOo~io

It's the first time in two years she doesn't feel so completely alone. At the same time she realizes she hasn't looked at herself in the mirror for two years. It doesn't matter. Ephraim's words reveal more than a piece of reflective glass ever could, and she is ashamed of what he shows her.

It's also the first time in two years she feels and dries someone else's grief but her own.

That night there is not even a flicker of a flame as she uses her arms to stop someone else from coming apart.

Instead of drenched in winter's rain, it's tears making her shirt stick to her chest, and for once they are not her own.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**Seattle, June 2005**_

Billy and Sarah Black take Rebecca and Ephraim to an amusement park in Seattle. They hope it will give their kids a change of scenery, that perhaps it's good with something different. Something out of the ordinary that breaks up the strange normal they are all so used to by now.

They don't know of the butterfly effect. They can't predict and stay home to prevent it. Who can foresee the unimaginable? Besides, it's inevitable.

Rebecca waits for something to break.

She burns for it daily, and now they're out of time.

In a moment they turn their backs, in passing she slips away, and in the next she's gone.

**o~*iii*~o**


	3. Part Two: Overcome

_**Disclaimer**__**: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The things I put some of them through here, only I am to blame for. Proceed with a bullet-proof heart and a strong head. This is not for impressionable minds. 18+ only, please. You have been warned.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Part Two<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Overcome<strong>_

* * *

><p><em>If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end; if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin, and in the end, despair.  C.S. Lewis_

**o~*iii*~o**

_**Seattle, June 2005**_

Rebecca dodges bodies; big, small, wide and thin. Some turn to glare or to bite out an insult, whereas others apologize or try to steady her as she's about to take a nosedive. It's all a blur, colors and faces melting together, and she scans ahead for an exit—an escape.

"Hey, watch where you're going," a mildly irritated voice tells her and she returns an apologetic half-smile. Next thing she knows she finds herself on her butt with the wind knocked clear from her lungs.

"Jesus," someone says from the direction she was just cut off.

"No, Beelzebub," someone else replies. That was all her.

But whoever that other voice belongs to is talking again and pulling her off the ground to meet a pair of pale blue eyes and a cocky smirk. "You, sweetheart, are no devil," he tells her in such a way that makes her silently thank her dark skin.

"I'm no angel, either, and if I can't run on asphalt I sure as hell can't walk on water." She finds (to her surprise) herself laughing right along with her rescuer.

"So, somewhere in between—I like that."

She _is _in between, and this makes her laugh die along with her smile. "Excuse me," she mumbles and lowers her head to duck away.

"Hey, hey, hey. Not so fast, sweetie-pie." His hand is around her arm, and pulls her back. She wants to tell him to piss off, but she keeps her eyes downcast and says nothing. "I didn't catch your name."

_I never said. _"Rebecca."

He tips her chin up, forces her to look at his smile. "Nathan. Nice to bump into you, Bec—can I call you Bec?"

"Hi," is her lame reply, and, "I guess."

Then his arm is around her and they are walking in the opposite direction. "Well, Bec . . . Are you sure it's okay? You don't sound too enthusiastic about it."

_Bec is fine, but please take your arm away._ "It's fine."

"All right. _Bec_," he says and smiles at her. He isn't very tall, but he's built. Very built. "Do you like cotton candy?"

She stutters. "I—we—it's bad for you."

Nathan laughs. "I won't tell anyone if you don't," he says with a mischievous grin.

It's surreal, and she isn't sure how to react. Not even Paul is—_was _(screw Paul and his pale summer fling)—this forward, and it throws her. Enough to allow Nathan to drag her around.

First they get cotton candy, then slush puppies, then a slice of pan-pizza and a soda before Rebecca finally works up the courage to quietly ask if he knows where the restrooms are.

While she gets her business done, she boggles at all the things she so carelessly shared with him. She wonders to herself what she thinks she's doing, and reminds herself that she is supposed to get out of the park. The longer she stays the bigger the chance her parents will find her.

Too late.

When she comes outside she sees Nathan talking to her parents. Thinking of escaping again isn't even an option as they turn to her (all of them, except Ephraim who is looking at Nathan) when she reluctantly walks forward.

She can't even run away. Not even that she can get right.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**La Push, end of summer 2005**_

She hardly dares to believe it.

Nathan Weaver (she even knows his middle name and can tease him for it) is her boyfriend. _Hers. _She has someone who belongs to her and her alone. And she is _his_ and he likes saying it, too. Especially when he is _inside_. So much closer than Paul ever was.

_Rachel. I think I'm in love._

Every time Nathan touches Rebecca, she's like a live wire, and though the burn is still there, deep within, it isn't so bad anymore. It's less.

Best of all: her mom and dad don't argue so much and she and Ephraim even tease each other again. She can beat him over the head with their mom's throw pillows and laugh at his shock. Ephraim has, without a doubt, the best facial expressions in the world and it makes winding him up even more fun.

Still, she keeps her diary, but instead of leaving haunted words on the pages, she draws hearts and _his name_ while he's not there.

He lives in Seattle with his parents, and they must be very wealthy because she has never seen a seventeen year old guy drive such a fancy car. In movies, yes (movies her mom hates), but not in real life.

Not only that; he gives her a silver necklace which she makes sure to take off before she showers so it won't tarnish. Or to leave off on days they see each other again after too long apart. Sometimes he leaves marks, but she doesn't mind. It makes her feel even more like his.

For the first time since Rachel passed away, she looks forward to school, and she promises herself and tells her parents that she will fix things. She works her butt off so she can graduate.

_Rachel. I miss you, but I think it's okay. I think I can do this._

**o~*iii*~o**

_**Seattle, October 2005**_

"Wow." Rebecca finds nothing else appropriate to say. She's in awe of Nathan's home, and is afraid to touch even the sleek marble counters in the kitchen, in case she leaves a fingerprint or a smudge on the polished surface.

"You haven't seen the pool yet," he whispers behind her ear as his arms wrap around her, and it makes her giggle.

"It's cold outside," she replies in a not so convincing protest, then turns and pulls herself up on her tiptoes as her lips, her body presses into his.

"The pool's heated."

She sucks in a surprised gasp when he scoops her up and carries her to the panorama windows, giving her a glimpse of the terrace that is larger than her parent's entire strip of land. A pang of something shoots through her, and in a fleeting moment she wants to go home.

Nathan's palm on her breast breaks her out of the melancholy and within minutes she's shivering with pleasure as he takes her hard and fast against a large urn taller than he is, and wider than the both of them together.

_Later that night . . . ._

"Bec, wake up." His voice is all wrong, and slowly she manages to open her eyes and blink up at him.

"What?"

"I can't sleep," he tells her expectantly. Confused, she pulls herself up on one elbow to look him over.

"Are you okay?"

He sighs; a long, drawn out sigh. "I will be as soon as you're not. . . ." He doesn't say anything, but his gesture and the way he looks at her gives her the impression he doesn't want her in his bed. She's a bit slow—she doesn't understand.

"What?" she repeats, puzzled.

"Are you fucking dense? I sleep alone. Haven't I told you that, like, a million times already?"

As her throat closes up, she stutters, "But—but, I thought we—" She swallows and looks around, as if hoping that her observation of already being in his bed is enough. She still doesn't understand. If he didn't want her in his bed, why did he take her there?

"Fucking Christ." With rough hands he drags her out of his bed and literally dumps her on the floor. "Clear enough for you?" He gets back into bed with his back turned. "There's a guest room down the hall, second door on the right."

Nathan says nothing else, and Rebecca just stares.

She is still staring when his snores finally releases the dam and she bursts into tears.

_The next morning . . . ._

"Morning, babe."

Her throat is raw and her lids are like sandpaper against her eyes, and then—soft and tender—his lips brush her cheek. Before she can part her lips to answer he's between her thighs, pulling her panties to the side and whispering, "You're mine, Bec."

A sob breaks free and she throws her arms around his neck and buries her face there, too, as he pushes inside her. "Yours," she vows in a cracked voice that turns into a wordless moan when his hands brand her skin.

Last night is erased with each stroke that she claims from him.

_You're mine. _Mine.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**Seattle, November 2005**_

Nathan takes her out to dinner to a far too extravagant restaurant where she can't even order a bottle of water without cringing at the price. He tells her she's ridiculous and to order whatever she likes. "Money will never be a problem with me, Bec. You can have whatever you want."

She knows he will question her if she doesn't let him spend money on her, so she pours some steel into her spine and places an order with the waiter that causes the man's eyes to nearly bug out of his head.

"That's my girl."

Inside, she purrs with satisfaction—_his_, she thinks—and turns a brilliant smile on him, the kind she knows he loves.

After dinner, they go to his parent's house. This is the first time she meets his mom, Teresa. His dad, Vincent is a very busy and important man (according to Nathan), and he is rarely home. Teresa—nice in spite of the strange, cat-like eyes that are a little off-putting—gives her a _huge_ glass of juice when Rebecca quietly (he doesn't like it when she's too loud) tells Nathan she's thirsty.

Something about the way he and his mom interact strikes her as a bit weird. Nathan is condescending . . . almost belittling. (If Ephraim were to treat their mom like that, she would bite his head off, then turn him over to Billy to kick his butt.) What more, Teresa's entire posture changes, like the way a small child slouches only just a tiny fraction when being chastised by a parent or an adult.

Fleetingly she draws a parallel, but deflects it before it settles.

When it's time to sleep, Rebecca knows to go straight for the guestroom. Most of the time she tries to avoid Nathan's room altogether as she so easily falls asleep after they've made love. If she can prevent him from getting upset with her, she does.

"Bec? What's this?" he asks from the kitchen where he stands behind the refrigerator door. With one brow arched, he looks at her when she comes up to him.

"What's what?"

Nathan pulls out the glass of juice his mom gave her earlier. "This."

"Oh, that. I couldn't drink—" She's silenced by the cold and wet that splashes into her face and quickly runs down her front, soaking her pajama shirt.

"It doesn't belong there. If you can't drink it all, dump it in the sink or something."

Her mind's not catching up, so she automatically responds with, "That's a waste, Nath—" but he cuts her off again and she sucks in a sharp breath. His hand around her arm is so tight it burns.

"Excuse me?" he demands in a low voice that sends a cold shiver down her spine. "I don't think I caught that. It's what?"

She tries several times to swallow. "I . . . It's . . . I didn't . . . I'm sorry, I'm stupid," she finally manages to settle for, but her eyes are on the floor.

A gush of relief pushes a cold wave through her arm when he releases her, only to walk away. "Clean yourself up," he tells her as he leaves the kitchen. "Mom doesn't want any stains on the sheets."

Rebecca allows nothing to break the surface until she's convinced he's out of sight and range. Assured, she lets the confinement drop and the tears continue to humiliate her long after she has cleaned up the spilled juice and herself.

When she walks into the room where she usually sleeps, he is waiting for her.

There is nothing gentle about the way he makes love to her, and all she can focus on is burying her face in the pillow to not disturb his mom as he slams into her over and over. "You know how much I love you, right?" he asks, breathless.

She turns her head enough to whisper, "Yes," and barely feels anything else but the sharp pain he causes deep inside.

"Hey." His voice is suddenly soft and he slows. "Don't cry, Bec." He leans over her, pressing his clammy chest into her back. "I'm so sorry, honey, I'm just wound a bit tight lately," he says quietly while his hands move tenderly, reverently over her curves. "You're everything to me. Shh, baby, hush now."

Her heart swells and cracks, but she wipes her face of the silent tears against the pillow, and tells him, "I love you."

"I know, I know, Bec, and I love you, too. So fucking much." As he begins to move, he builds her up again, the way only he knows how. "I'll never stop—never leave you. You're safe with me, baby. I've got you."

Each fiber in her body believes him.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**La Push, Christmas 2005**_

Rebecca spends the evening telling her parents about the imaginary mugger who took the purse she never carries, which is the cause of all the bruises she can't hide. Nathan sits next to her, stroking them gently, and apologizes to Sarah and Billy that he wasn't there to stop it.

When Ephraim lets out a scoff, Nathan turns to him. Her brother refocuses on his notebook and points to one ear, half covered by his headset. "Dumb lyrics."

"Ah."

Neither of them are convinced.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**La Push, January 2nd 2006**_

Ephraim sits on Rebecca's bed when she walks into the room. She gives a start. "Fuck, Rimmy, you scared the shit out of me." With only a towel wrapped around her (she just had a shower), she sits down next to him and makes her tone softer. "Sorry."

At first he says nothing, and she notices the folded piece of paper he turns over and over in his hands. Just when she's about to speak, he unfolds the note and gives it to her.

The towel hikes up her thigh, revealing more of the marks Nathan leaves so often now.

"What the—"

"I fell," she snaps and covers her leg, then smooths the towel, almost affectionately. "So, what's in it this time? More angst?" She bumps her shoulder against him, winking, but he's still staring at the spot now covered with the towel while she waits for him to look at her face. When he does, his expression's clouded, but she winks at him again and grins.

He just shakes his head, slightly, and rolls his eyes. "Just read it, Becca."

"Yessir," she obediently says, and does as she's told.

oi~oOo~io

_She's the broken girl in the window._

_He's outside, looking in._

_Some days he thinks about smashing the glass._

_Make her see what's fake._

_He would climb inside _

_And they could both look out _

_For each other._

oi~oOo~io

"Aw . . . Rimmy." She wraps an arm around his slender shoulders and squeezes him. "I'm fine now. You don't have to worry about me anymore." Her cheek comes to rest on top of his head and she gives the silky ponytail a gentle tug. "And Nathan takes good care of me and makes sure I'm not stupid, so—"

"Yeah, I saw," he says in a way that stabs her heart and makes her flinch.

"Hey, that's not fair."

"Too bad. . . ." Ephraim extracts himself, but when she wants to hand the words back, he shakes his head and goes for the door. "I wrote it for _you_, so . . . keep it, or . . . whatever."

Rebecca stares at the door for many, many minutes after he leaves the room. She folds the paper away into the back of the top drawer, together with all the other pieces her brother keeps giving her, before getting dressed.

Nathan is on his way, and this year she isn't going to spend the night staring at empty spaces and shadows. She finds the room is closing in on her, and she needs to get out.

She needs _him_ to make it better.

Later, while in Nathan's car and on their way to Port Angeles, she thinks about Ephraim's words. Maybe it was _for _her, but it wasn't all _about _her.

Once again he manages to make her see things she doesn't want to see.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**La Push, 3rd of February 2006**_

"What's this, Bec?"

Rebecca watches helplessly while Nathan pulls one note after another from the top drawer in her dresser and reads.

"He just likes to write stuff. We both write and show each other—it doesn't mean anything, Nathan. It's all about Rachel."

All lies, so many lies.

Nathan turns to her with the latest piece in his hands. It's crumpled. Why didn't she throw it out like she wanted? "Is it?" He holds it up and reads it, out loud, his eyes flickering to hers while doing so. "_I know. Even if you think I don't. Even if _they_ don't. Even if _he thinks_ I don't. You can hide your scars and lie about your bruises, but I see. Speak up, or I will._"

Her throat is closed, and the tears come faster. "Don't," she begs when he looks toward the door. "It's my fault. I'm stupid and not smart enough to—"

"Smart enough to what, Bec?" he interrupts quietly. This part of Nathan is the part she fears the most. The quiet, the calm; the composure. "He's a kid, he doesn't understand. How could he possibly know how much I love you?"

Rebecca shakes her head mechanically, back and forth, and lifts her shoulders hopelessly. "I . . . I don't know."

"That's right, Bec, you don't know. But I do, honey, so it's okay. Let me talk to him." He shoves the note into his pocket and walks up to her to cup the back of her head. He pulls her mouth to his. "Hush, baby, it's okay. I've got this."

"Please don't hurt him," she chokes out, and he pulls back like she slapped him.

Disbelief leaks into his face. "Is that what you think I do to you?" His hand is in her hair, and he pulls roughly to tilt her head, pressing his lips to her ear, and whispers, "You still don't get it, do you? You're my world, Bec. But I guess you don't understand, either."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'll show you, with time you'll know."

He presses his lips to her mouth once more then leaves her room.

Ephraim stays in his room during dinner and when their mom goes to ask him what's wrong, he tells her he isn't feeling so well. Rebecca has a sinking feeling, and as she waves Nathan off at sundown, she sees only two options: break it off or leave her family.

She isn't sure how she can do either.

"Rebecca!" her dad calls from the house, and she quickly turns to run inside.

Ephraim stands by the table, looks directly at her with a fierce intensity, and instantly she knows from her racing heartbeat what he has done. While her mom rubs Ephraim's shoulders where she stands behind him, looking out the window, the fury in her dad's face makes her cringe.

"You are not to see that boy again." He speaks with deep authority. "He is no longer welcome here. Do you understand?" Billy's words are firm and final, but what she sees in his eyes breaks her down.

The only thing she knows to say (she's so good at this now) is "I'm sorry," before she collapses.

Her brother is there on the floor next to her and hugs her harder than she thought possible for a boy of twelve. "It's not love. He's a liar and an asshole. It's not love, Becca, it's not."

She can't speak because she is ripped open all over again.

The truth doesn't sting. It burns.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**La Push, February 5th 2006**_

He keeps calling, but she isn't allowed to speak with him. They tell her she's better off, but she disagrees. How will she ever find someone to belong to when she is broken like this? Who wants someone so ugly on the inside? Amazingly enough, those things don't matter to Nathan. He loves her anyway, and she doesn't care if it's not normal love or if he marks her body. It's nowhere near the severity of the scars she wears on the inside.

She's damaged, and will never be good enough for anyone.

Only for Nathan.

Then, late in the night, she wakes to a strange noise against her window. With her heart in her throat, she pulls the curtain to the side and only just manages to choke off a startled cry when her brain registers it's Nathan.

He points and she knows he wants her to go and unlock the door. She nods without even thinking, and quickly scrambles out of bed to get dressed.

It's not the same anymore, though, and what before was too easy for her to keep secret can be hidden no longer. This time, when a sudden noise cuts through the silence, she jumps and lets out a scream muffled by her hand.

"You're not opening that door, Rebecca," her dad says, appearing in the kitchen.

Tears burn her eyes, and she pleads, "I need to talk to him."

"That boy is not worth the breath in his lungs, let alone my daughter. You're not seeing him, are we clear?"

"But, Dad, please—"

"No. Go back to bed." Billy moves for the door with a downward glance at his daughter. "Go on. I'll take care of this."

Rebecca knows she has no choice, but she curses herself for not climbing out her window instead. Of course, that requires smarts, something she doesn't possess. As such, she simply obeys and goes back to bed where she cries herself to sleep and wishes more than ever she was Rachel.

She always knew what to do, and she was so much better than her.

Rachel deserved to live, Rebecca should be the one dead.

_Nobody would be hurting if I were you, and you were here._

**o~*iii*~o**


	4. Part Three: Fracture

_**Disclaimer**__**: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The things I put some of them through here, only I am to blame for. Proceed with a bullet-proof heart and a strong head. This is not for impressionable minds. 18+ only, please. You have been warned.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Part Three<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fracture<strong>_

* * *

><p><em>I couldn't face a life without your light, but all of that was ripped apart when you refused to fight.  Slipknot_

* * *

><p><strong>o~*iii*~o<strong>

_**La Push, 17th of February 2006**_

The entire week passes in a blur.

Rebecca goes to school, she attends her classes, she does her homework, but she avoids everyone. Even her brother.

Worst of all: Nathan's calls stop.

When Friday comes around, Rebecca even struggles to open her eyes; though she's the first one to wake, she's the last out of bed.

Once she's up, she showers (what is normally a five minute effort turns into a twenty-five minute challenge), and then, as she rummages through her drawer for socks, she realizes all the notes are gone. She walks straight to Ephraim's room and enters without knocking first.

"Where are they?" she demands the moment the door is firmly shut behind her. Her brother pauses with a book half-way into the backpack.

"What, where?"

She begins to go through his things while he watches her, confused. "The notes, Rimmy, where are they?"

"Your notes?"

"The ones you gave me, the ones you wrote for me."

"Oh . . . I don't know. Why?"

Rebecca stops and squints her eyes so much they are mere slits. "You're the only one who knows where I keep them, so spit it out. Where are they?"

"I _don't know_!"

They glare at each other, then look at the door simultaneously when shouting erupts, coming from down the hallway. She knows it's Nathan's voice. Automatically she yanks the door open and darts down the hallway. "Nathan!" She stops short then stumbles forward a couple of steps as Ephraim collides with her back.

Her mom and dad are frozen, like in a photograph, staring at Nathan who appears equally shocked, but this doesn't make sense as he's the one holding the gun.

"Oh God, Nathan, what are you—"

"Come here, Bec," Nathan says, and his voice is so much steadier than he is. He's visibly trembling, and she quickly finds that she is, too. Not thinking twice, she walks toward him.

"What are you doing, Nathan?" she repeats.

"Stop talking." Reluctantly, he takes his eyes off of her parents. She has seen many sides of him, but in this moment she realizes just how little she understands. How little she knows. But it doesn't matter. Still she obeys. "Stay where you are," he warns, and she glances over her shoulder at Ephraim.

"Don't hurt her," he whispers.

"Stupid kid, shut your mouth."

"Don't talk to him like that," Rebecca pleads and reaches for him, touching his arm gently while eying the gun.

In an instant Nathan has her around the waist, firm against his side, and in horror she watches him swing the gun toward the hallway while shouting, "I said stay!"

_Not him._

Reflexively, Rebecca shoves his arm away, then jerks back as an unreal, explosive noise shatters her world.

Her ears are ringing, but beyond it, far away, chaos and voices unscramble her brain, bringing her closer.

_It's not real._

"Mom?" The voice is confused, and as much as she feels it coming from her own throat, she can't connect. "Mom?" the voice repeats, expectant.

Something dark creeps along the wood, expanding beneath. Sarah's eyes dart around frantically, and her lips move but nothing comes out apart from a constant, choking gurgle. The same dark liquid pulses from her neck. _So much of it. Too much._

Then an echo, replayed and mixed with another voice she knows for sure isn't hers. "Mom . . . Mom? Mom, no—no, Mom . . . _Mom_!"

"I swear to fucking God, kid, stay where you are or you're de—"

"NO!" Rebecca tears away and throws herself at Ephraim, covering him with all of her.

"Mom!" He struggles against her, but she holds him tight as he yells at her. "Let me go!" She closes her eyes and just holds him tighter. "Mom! Let me—_help her_, Becca, please—let me go, dammit! Please . . . _Dad_! _Do something_, Dad. Please. . . ." He chokes out a sob. "Just. . . ." And another. "_Do something_."

Behind her, someone speaks as she sinks down with Ephraim still struggling in her arms, looking between the frightened expression on her mom's face to the tear-streaked face of her brother.

"Don't even think about it, old man. _Stay back._"

Through strangled sobs, Ephraim continuously cries, "Mom! _Mom_!"

She spots the sudden movement just as another explosion reverberates through her very bones.

A beat.

Two beats.

Something heavy hits the floor. "You son of a bitch," a voice bites out in a strained hiss.

_It's not real._

"Stay the fuck down and shut up. I'll kill them. I swear to God, I'll kill them both. Just stay the fuck where you are."

_It isn't happening. It's a dream. A bad dream._

"_Please . . . Becca, do something. . . ._" He's broken and it's so much. It's too much.

_It's not real. It's a dream. Wake up. Please, wake up._

"Get up, Bec."

She can't let him go. "I'm sorry," she whispers into his hair as he continuously tries to break free. "I can't, Rimmy, please, I just can't."

"Get off the fucking floor, Bec!"

"No! Leave me alone! Go away, Nathan. _Go away_!"

"Jesus fucking Christ," he breathes out roughly and hauls her off the floor with Ephraim still in her arms. "And shut that kid up before I do."

Her brother is in hysterics as Nathan pulls her away from the nightmare she can't make sense of. With burning arms, she desperately holds onto Ephraim when Nathan shoves them out the front wants to scream for help, but no sounds come out when she opens her mouth.

"Get him in the car," Nathan orders flatly. "Now, Bec. Get him in the fucking car."

"I can't," she chokes out. "I don't . . . I just can't . . . _Why?_"

"Either he gets in the car or he joins your parents. Your call."

With a sob, she drags her brother toward the car. "I'm so sorry, Rimmy. So sorry," she repeats while struggling with the handle to the door. She gets it open and pushes him into the backseat, leaning in after him. "Shh, Rimmy." She strokes the hair from his face and if her heart hasn't shattered enough, it crumbles to dust as she tries to console him as best she can.

"Bec," Nathan calls to her, and she backs out. "Catch."

She fumbles and nearly drops it, only then registering what she has in her hands. Instantly she lets go and backs up against the car, staring at the gun mere inches from her feet.

"God, you're fucking hopeless."

"You killed them," she whispers.

_Wake up. You're dreaming. Wake up, Becca. Wake up wake up wake up._

"Get in the car," he snaps.

"I can't. . . ."

"Bec. Goddamn it, I swear—get in the fucking car."

"But you . . . They . . . I don't—" A strangled cry leave her lips as she's shoved into the backseat with Ephraim. When she tries to open the door it won't budge, but she keeps trying and trying, while helplessly staring out the window as the car starts moving.

"Child-lock, sweetheart . . . I told you I'll never leave you."

Defeated, she pulls her brother into her arms and holds him tightly, whispering quietly into his hair. "I'll fix it. I promise."

The whispered truth chokes him. "_Too late. . . ._"

**o~*iii*~o**


	5. Part Four: Among Ashes

_**Disclaimer**__**: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The things I put some of them through here, only I am to blame for. Proceed with a bullet-proof heart and a strong head. This is not for impressionable minds. 18+ only, please. You have been warned.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Part Four<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Among Ashes<strong>_

* * *

><p><em>And the games you'd play, you would always win, always win  But I set fire to the rain, and I threw us into the flames. / "Set Fire To The Rain," by Adele_

* * *

><p><strong>o~*iii*~o<strong>

_**Later in the day, 17**__**th**__** of February, 2006**_

"Keep up."

A flash and a beat.

"_I said stay!" _

_An explosion._

"_Mom . . . Mom? Mom, no—no, Mom . . . _Mom_!"_

"Bec!"

Flashing.

"_Do something." _

Another beat.

"_Don't even think about it, old man—_stay back._"_

_Thump-thump._

"_Mom! Mom!"_

Flashing.

_Another explosion._

"_Please . . . Becca, do something. . . ."_

"_I'm sorry. I can't, Rimmy, please, I just can't."_

"No!"

Burning pain sears through her and she reels backward with a cry, holding her hands to her face.

"Jesus, Bec. Snap out of it and keep up for fuck's sake."

Someone is yelling. "Why'd you do that? You didn't have to do that!"

"Shut up, kid."

"The car," Rebecca says as an image of their car cutting across a mirrored surface floats behind her eyes. Crying. Someone is crying. She looks up and realizes she's on the ground. Then she sees her bare feet. "Socks, I was looking for socks—and notes . . . Where're my notes?"

A familiar voice, thick with worry. It's close. "Becca?"

_Rimmy? "_Rimmy?"

Touching. Someone is touching her and it's soft—she chokes out a sob when pain shoots through her shoulder. Rough hands this time, yanking her. "Get up." She's on her feet. It stings and burns. "Keep up this time, Bec."

"The car," she says again. "Why's it in the water? How are we going to get anywhere without a car . . . I don't have any shoes, Nathan. Where're my shoes?"

"Holy fucking shit, will you shut up? Just keep walking. If you keep walking I'll buy you a hundred pairs of shoes—a _limo_, if you want—_any-fucking-thing_ you want. Just _keep up_!"

A flash. _Frantic eyes. A dark pool expanding. Pulsing. Choking._ Rebecca shakes her head and acid spills from her eyes, scorching her skin . . . _Too much._ "I want . . . I need . . . I don't—"

Warmth squeezes her fingers together. "Please, Becca."

"Rimmy?"

In a weak voice, he confirms, "Yes."

Trees are everywhere. Only trees. Nothing but trees. "Where are we?" she wonders and keeps looking left and right, all around, as the warmth tugs her forward.

"_Lake Pleasant_," Ephraim whispers.

They walk and walk. The trail seems to lead them nowhere, and she can't feel her feet anymore when they finally step into someone's backyard. The terrace is covered with dead leaves and so is the yard. Through the large windows, she sees white shapes—sheet-covered furniture.

"They only come here during the summer," Nathan explains as they skirt around to the front where a car sits on the shoulder of the road. "Mind your step, Bec. Wait." Automatically, she stops. In the next moment, he scoops her up and walks her to the car. "Get in, kid."

"Did you plan this?" her brother asks with ice in his voice.

"Do you think I wanted to drag your sniveling ass cross-country? Get in and shut up."

"Please," is all Rebecca says.

Nathan stuffs her into the backseat where Ephraim is fastening his seatbelt. For some reason, this makes her burst into tears and, as the car starts moving, she can't stop.

Above and beyond what her comprehension can encompass, her brother strokes her hair and says he will look after her.

The world is all backward; it's in pieces and she was never good at building puzzles.

_Rachel. I don't know what to do._

**o~*iii*~o**

_**On the road, February 2006**_

The dull rumbling of rubber-friction on concrete send vibrations to assault her from a cold, hard surface, awakening the pain in her cheek. Never ending rain drums against the roof above. A lazy, gravelly voice is droning out his misfortunes to the tune of a whiny saxophone.

"I have to pee," she hears hears herself say, voice cracked and parched.

"You're gonna have to hold out for another couple of miles, Bec," Nathan replies. He sounds like hers. Like the one she belonged to, and not the one who bereaves her of everything she thought she didn't care about or wanted in her nightmares.

But then she spies Ephraim in a restless sleep next to her, the passing streetlights of a stranger city through rolling droplets on her window . . . and it isn't a nightmare.

The voice isn't hers—it can't be hers. "You killed them." But it is.

"Well, sweetheart," he drawls. "Not according to the fingerprints they'll find on the gun."

"What?"

"You're looking at murder one, and then federal kidnapping, for taking your underage brother across the state line."

"_Bec," Nathan calls out to her . . . "Catch." She fumbles with steel and a gun slips through her fingers, glinting and mocking her idiocy._

She buries her tender face in her hands and cries until there is nothing left but breathing in and breathing out.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**Lock-down, February 2006**_

Creaking hinges, a rickety metal frame. A hard slam. And the echo of _click-click_.

Rebecca opens her eyes to shafts of pink and yellow puncturing a dim haze. Strange smells surround her, and her head aches. A radio is set to low, somewhere, but not in the large, sparsely furnished room she occupies.

Remembrance trickles down her spine, and a shard of fear bursts into a kaleidoscope of panic and horror when her limbs won't help her up. She isn't restrained; she just can't move. On the inside she fights the lethargy, until she can't any longer.

So much time passes before the exhaustion dissipates—shadows sneak along the powdery walls and pale floors, the light reaches its peak and then dwindles into a dense grayness. This time she can, with great difficulty, get her legs over the edge of the mattress. Her skin, however, is caressed by cool silkiness, causing confusion before questions arise in its place. Where is she?

The radio still crackles and coughs out its tunes.

"Hello?" Her throat nearly closes around the query. She pushes herself up and has to fight to support her weight on shaky legs. One step, and then two steps before the floor rushes up to meet her.

Her name filters through the sharp pain in her bones.

"Hello?" she croaks out once more.

Again she hears her name. It passes through walls, from far away.

On hands and aching knees Rebecca crawls, and then pulls herself up with the paneling as her support. She slowly gains her balance back on her way down a dim hallway.

The house is old and dark. A draft sends a chill through the damp air. "Rimmy?" she whispers as she makes her way from room to room, and finally she finds herself standing in a kitchen. She stares at the small radio sitting on a table; it looks like it might crumble to pieces at any given moment, just like her.

What she wants to find she can't, but someone finds her. She is too slow, too tired and too worn, to even turn to face the sound of a lock turning.

He clicks his tongue. "I thought you would've gotten smarter by now," he says, a chastising tone, and it makes her skin crawl. One clammy hand locks around her throat. His breath and disconcertingly tender voice is in her ear. "You'll learn."

The room seems to shrink, and far away someone is screaming. She dimly wonders how she is able to make a sound past the choking thorns.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**Captive, March 2006**_

Time passes. Rebecca tries to figure out how much, but all she knows is that Nathan is giving her something to make her stay. No. To make her unable to keep him from doing what he wants, which isn't limited to her presence.

She does know her brother is close. He is somewhere in this dark place—she hears him at times—and it is all her fault, and she wishes now more than ever that she were stronger, better, smarter . . . Someone else.

The least she can do is to be quiet when Nathan sometimes deems her mere existence is punishable, so she is, and bites down on her hand, or pillow, or the rough upholstery of the ottoman that smells like dust and wet earth. She tries, but doesn't always succeed. This makes her wish she were dead.

However, death is not an option, and each time the door slams and that _click-click_ echoes through to the place deeper down where she has locked herself away, Rebecca struggles against her limbs and reopens wounds to find a way out. For her brother. If she can only get to him and get him out, then he can run . . . and keep running . . . .

Nathan is too silent one day, and she is halfway up the stairs. She doesn't make it back before he reaches her, and he throws her down. Something breaks then, but it isn't her bones, and then Ephraim is coming toward them. The look in his eye scares her more than Nathan's unpredictability does.

Drawing on strength she didn't think she had, she manages to shove Ephraim aside before he reaches Nathan. Instead he crashes into a shelving unit. When he scrambles off the floor, he shoots her a glare of incredulous fury, and spits blood at the ground where she lies. She sees he doesn't understand, and possibly he hates her a little more now. It stabs her heart, but she knows that the scar he will have from this is the better price to pay than that which Nathan's temper surely would have cost him.

Then, in the midst of chaos, hope flares: Nathan doesn't understand, either. "That's my Bec," he tells her later, "I told you you would understand one day." And she feels shame like she never has before when a part of her revels in how gently he handles her body that night, and the way she handles his in turn.

It is the turning point, her one chance to rectify all the wrongs. It is like all the moments have been leading up to this one of redemption, however twisted. No matter what it costs her she has to get Ephraim out of here, before the darkness in his eyes sinks deeper. Before she drags him down with her.

_Rachel. Close your eyes. I'm not here._

She takes Nathan in to where it burns, where pain and despair can't be told from hate, and decides she is his Bec. And she thinks she begins to understand.

**o~*iii*~o**


	6. Part Five: The Break

_**Disclaimer**__**: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The things I put some of them through here, only I am to blame for. Proceed with a bullet-proof heart and a strong head. This is not for impressionable minds. 18+ only, please. You have been warned.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Part Five<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Break<strong>_

* * *

><p><em>We're spinning further, deeper  I know you're out to try me / I'm not in this to be your slave. / "The Quiet Place," by In Flames_

* * *

><p><strong>o~*iii*~o<strong>

_**Portland, early April 2006**_

Knowing where they are doesn't help, but finding out her obedience earns her rewards is what will save them. It has to, and this is what she tells herself when she think she will vomit if she has to eat one more morsel of food while Ephraim gets nothing. Nathan tells her he gets enough, but she doesn't believe him.

She has no choice but to eat anyway.

If she doesn't then she is ungrateful, which isn't true; she can hardly wait to show Nathan her gratitude, in her very own way. All he has ever shown her and told her has been deceit and lies, but it gives her the right kind of motivation. "Thank you," she says after finishing her meal, and smiles a real smile. "That was pretty great." She stands to clear the table and imagines all kinds of uses for a normal fork or a kitchen knife.

_A little more time. Hold on, Rimmy._

Nathan's phone rings, and he slips out of the kitchen. Carefully, and with her heart pumping hard, she tiptoes over to the door and stays still. He is speaking in an undertone, and she almost can't tell what he says . . . _"You gotta finish him—no. I'm not leaving them here, and I don't trust any of your fucking apes to do the job. _You _do it."_ Rebecca can hardly breathe. _"Then make him keep his mouth shut. I'll fuck the brother up worse than I did him if he says anything—you tell him that."_

A sense of knowing seeps into her veins; her father is alive. She just knows it. The constricting ache in her throat tells her the truth and if she can't choke back on the tears and the _anger_ that wants to explode inside her, then all her hard work will have been for nothing.

Nathan is angry, too, and things are torn apart while Rebecca does the dishes and sings Frank Sinatra. She used to know someone who would use the same method to still her desire to strangle her daughters when they fought. Frank Sinatra was sung a lot in their home.

She will not cry. _I'll set this right, Dad. I promise, I will._

**o~*iii*~o**

_**Portland, late April 2006**_

Nathan has to leave for a few days, and Rebecca fears one of Vincent's lackeys will guard her . . . until a small woman with Jackie Kennedy-hair and cat-eyes steps through the door.

It's Nathan's mom, and Rebecca nearly bursts into tears.

And that is the first time in several weeks she gets to see Ephraim. Not even a raging storm could have held her back when the door is swung open, and even though he seems indifferent—and he looks all _wrong—_Rebecca pulls him into her arms. She tries hard to keep her plans to herself, in case Teresa overhears, and instead bites her tongue and holds him until her muscles go numb. She wants to apologize; she wants to tell him so much and make all kinds of promises to set it right . . . but she can tell from his apathy that he wouldn't believe her anyway.

"You need to get him away," Teresa orders her from the door, and Rebecca freezes. "I will help you, but you must do exactly as I say."

It's a ploy. It is far too convenient. Nathan planned this; he always plays tricks to test her loyalty. Rebecca shakes her head and wraps herself around her brother and tells the woman, "Thank you for letting me see my brother, but I don't want to leave. I'll take care of him—both of them. I'm not going anywhere." Yet another part of her withers and dies when hot tears burn into her arm and Ephraim's body trembles.

Teresa says nothing and leaves them alone.

"I'm sorry," Rebecca whispers.

Ephraim doesn't answer, and this time she breaks down, too. Soon she can hardly breathe, and she can't hear that Teresa returns. Only when her dusky-rose shoes with peep-holes for perfectly manicured toes come into her line of sight does she look up. A cry of terror sticks in her throat when she recognizes the syringe. "Please, don't! I've been good—I do everything I'm supposed to do—please, please, _please_!"

"Shh," Teresa hushes her. "I'm not going to hurt you, but you need to trust me. I know it's hard—believe me, I know all too well—but my son has no mercy for your brother. Please, Rebecca." In her open palm, Nathan's mom offers the syringe. "You'll need this, and you'll only get one chance to use it, so choose the moment carefully."

Rebecca can't speak, but reluctantly extends one hand to shakily curl fingers around the weapon—not too unlike the one Nathan has assaulted her skin with so much already.

Shortly thereafter Rebecca watches her brother watch her as he eats and she ignores her food. She can't swallow even one mouthful. There is no point in pretending now, and she is a lot more tired than she ever thought. "I'll let you know when it's time to run," she says with tears clogging her throat, and Ephraim stays silent for so long she is scared he hates her even more than she can imagine.

"I'm not leaving without you," he answers finally, and she does all the hating for him.

**o~*iii*~o**

Before Nathan comes back, Teresa gives her an address and tells her to look at the stars when she gets there. And then she indicates the ceiling, but Rebecca doesn't understand. She also gives her money and reveals where there is more, and to take all of it. "You know what you must do to make sure he sleeps deeply enough."

Rebecca nods. This she knows very well. "Thank you," she says.

"Don't thank me. You also know I have to play my part."

"We all have roles to play," Rebecca says, but to herself, because Teresa has already left.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**The Getaway, early May 2006**_

She has waited long enough and now it's time.

Like every day, she cooks for him, and polishes each surface she can reach. He tells her, "Once this blows over, I'm getting you a proper house, and a maid to do that for you." It makes her think of Teresa's pretty toes, and she is sure Nathan's mom doesn't have to touch any detergent.

Rebecca hopes her wistful inspection of her short, ugly fingernails escapes Nathan's ever-attentive observance, and finishes putting the frying pan away. Her back is turned to him when she says, "I always wanted a white house. Red is so . . . ." She can't finish that or her voice might not hold.

Nathan is behind her then, hands in places that makes her heart give a _thump_ before adrenaline kicks in. This is it. "Oh, Bec . . . Bec," he leans in to croon before roughly turning her. His fingers dig into the side of her neck. Terror crawls out of her belly, and the sharpness in his blue eyes needs no verbal emphasis of her failure. "You've been trying way too hard, baby."

No. No, she hasn't. It isn't supposed to be like this. She has played his game so well, and she is just jumping to conclusions. She didn't fail—she can't afford to fail . . . _Ephraim_. Desperation makes her reckless. "Too hard?" Tears sting her, and she fights to get loose. "Why do you bother when I'm such a nobody?" she fires at him with all she has and dares. "If I'm a loser, get rid of me then! Let me go, Nathan. Just let me go!" And it's useless, because Nathan is too strong and she will never get him to want her body now, and she won't be able to own his, one last time. She is sure of it.

The sound of splintering glass, and Nathan drops her instantly, only to glance at the ceiling. _Ephraim. No. _She makes a desperate grab for Nathan, but of course—_of course—_he slips through her fingers, just like everything and everyone else.

Nathan cocks his head to one side, like a lizard, and Rebecca tries to hear whatever he hears, but her ears are flooded with frantic heartbeats. "Nice try," he says, slowly turning back to her. "Maybe you're not as dumb as I thought you were."

She has no idea what he is talking about.

"You'll never get away, Bec. No matter where you go, I'll find you. Remember that."

_Not if I kill you._ She thought rage being red was just a saying. The blood dancing in her peripheral vision is real, though, and then Nathan's expression slackens.

Rebecca is confused, because she didn't do anything, but Nathan sinks to the floor anyway. Behind him she meets the dark eyes of a boy, and the poisoned look she was supposed to prevent. At least she shakes herself from her stupor before Ephraim can swing the pipe one too many times.

"Rimmy," she pleads when he thrashes in her arms and shouts for her to let him go.

"He doesn't get to live, Becca! Let me go of me, he doesn't get to live!"

She manages to drag her brother with her to get the syringe from its hidden place, but Ephraim takes it from her and she falls to the floor when lunging for him.

Nathan ends up with the needle through his chest and Rebecca has to force Ephraim out of the house and assure him that they will be miles away before Nathan comes after them—if he even makes it out of there alive.

Until now she hasn't even thought of where they are besides somewhere in the Portland area. She clutches Ephraim's hand, and their gazes travel across large evergreens and hills and nothing but dense forests and nothingness for as far as they can see, except for a jagged summit splitting a wispy mass sweeping the horizon.

"We drive until the tank's empty and then you dump the car," Ephraim tells her, and all she can do is nod. The moment is here and when she feels nothing but empty inside. As the house shrinks in the rear view mirror, she understands she never allowed herself to believe they would make it this far.

**o~*iii*~o**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>One chapter to go, and a tiny epilogue. Part Six will be posted next Wednesday._


	7. Part Six: The Aftermath

_**Disclaimer**__**: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The things I put some of them through here, only I am to blame for. Proceed with a bullet-proof heart and a strong head. This is not for impressionable minds. 18+ only, please. You have been warned.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Part Six<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Aftermath<strong>_

* * *

><p><em>There's a fire inside of this heart and a riot about to explode into flames  Do you really want me dead or alive to torture for my sins? / "Hurricane," by Thirty Seconds To Mars_

* * *

><p><strong>o~*iii*~o<strong>

_**Running out of gas, May 2006**_

They drive through mile upon mile of forest. The landscape takes them high and low, and the car conks out in a town called Redmond. Sputtering and hissing, it rolls into a supermarket parking lot where they leave it. Rebecca remembers the address she was given, but uses some money to buy bus tickets to an entirely different place, in the most unlikely direction. She isn't willing to find out how well or poorly Teresa plays her role.

Spokane is their first stop. Rebecca buys a pair of scissors and Ephraim stares at the tiles in the restroom when she cuts all his hair off. She gathers her own to shear off, but her brother stops her and she instead spends half an hour trying to stop crying while he tells her she has to let it out or she will rot inside. That makes her cry more; not because she is afraid of the ugliness she carries, but because he understands. He shouldn't understand, and it isn't fair and it's utterly hopeless.

That night she sees a boy swinging a rusty pipe over and over until she is left in a pool of blood with nothing but her own self-loathing for comfort. She wakes up screaming into a soft palm while arms stronger than they should be keep her from jumping out of a moving bus.

She hears their whispers, but all she feels is the innocence lost . . . because of her.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**Nowhere, end of June 2006**_

Funds are running low, and Rebecca knows they can't keep running forever. They have been through three states and more than a dozen cities; they have been on the road and traveled on the night buses for so long she can't remember what a bed feels like well enough to miss it. She tries her best to look after Ephraim, but as the weeks pass, she is brought face to face with a new and frightening question: is this the life Sarah and Billy would have wanted for him? Had her actions not left their lives in ruins of coal and ash, Ephraim would have been having summer break now. He would have hung out with his friends and helped out at the resort for a little extra cash.

She needs to get a job and support him, and then she needs to make sure he gets all the opportunities he would have—if only . . . .

She can't use her real identity, and neither can he.

When they get on the next Greyhound she knows its destination will be their last stop.

All night she watches him sleep, and comes to the conclusion that thinking something never got her anywhere. "You're Jacob now," she whispers into his ear as soon as he wakes up. "I'm Rachel, and our parents are dead and we don't remember anything."

They get off the bus in Phoenix and sit down in the shade while she counts the last bills. Fifty-two dollars, and a few coins. Rebecca leans her head back and closes her eyes.

He deserves better than this. So much better.

She couldn't save her sister, and Sarah's blood is on her hands, and her dad's, but she can turn this around. She can still save Ephraim. Nathan might not know where they are right now, but it's only a matter of time before he finds her, and when he does, Ephraim can't be with her.

Teresa is right, and if there was no mercy for Ephraim _then_, Rebecca is convinced—beyond a shadow of doubt—that nothing but unspeakable cruelty awaits him, should he ever be caught.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**Phoenix, July 2006**_

For weeks they wander the streets of Phoenix, and Rebecca loses track of where they are and where they have been. It isn't for lack of being observant, because she does notice things, and what she sees breaks the shattered remains of her heart.

Parks aren't for playing hide and seek with strangers who watch Ephraim with pity in their eyes, and his daily meal isn't supposed to be shared with old men in a haze of sour sweat whose opinions are contained by swollen lips and drooping lids. Least of all should he embrace his fate with apathetic acceptance.

"Hi there." The soft-spoken woman peers down at Ephraim, and then at Rebecca. She doesn't look like the men and women that have initiated conversation with them in the past few weeks. "I'm Jen, and I'd like to talk to you, if that'd be all right?"

Rebecca feels her brother's tension, and knows she must be smart to not incur suspicion. _Maybe you're not as dumb as I thought you were . . ._ "Can we finish eating first?"

The woman gives her a kind smile and nods, indicating a row of chairs at the front-most wall of the large dining area. "Come on over whenever you're ready," she says, and the smile doesn't leave, not even once. Rebecca keeps throwing glances in her direction, and knows they need to make a run for it.

She doesn't trust anyone, and doesn't even want to try. The risks aren't worth it, and she is relieved Ephraim asks no questions when she finds his hand beneath the table. "Now," she says under her breath, and they rise to leave.

Rebecca avoids the smile she knows is still there and walks straight for the exit.

"Wait," the woman calls out. This makes Rebecca look, and then a wall of two police officers cuts off their path outside the doors.

It's over. She will spend the rest of her life in jail and she won't be able to keep Nathan away from her brother. Numb as she is, she can't even cry when she and Ephraim are guided into the backseat of the cruiser sitting on the street. It seems to harbor a thousand voices, reminding her what a failure she is.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**Interrogation, July 2006**_

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"And your brother?"

"Twelve . . . I think."

"Where are you from?"

"I don't know."

"Where are your parents?"

A long pause. "I don't know."

The man sighs, and then there are scribbling noises. "Well, Rachel Brown. You certainly aren't making things easy for us."

"I'm sorry." This reply is like an automated message, recorded since long before today, and it makes her eyes fill with tears.

His pencil taps against the clipboard. The sound echoes off the lilac and yellow walls with framed pictures that fail to serve their purpose. Nothing is a comfort. "Your brother is with one of our psychiatrists right now, and we'd like you to see her, too. . . ." She can feel the accusations hanging from the silence. "Have you been taking any drugs?"

She takes too long to answer. "No."

"These questions are for your own good, and the more accurately you answer, the better help we can give you . . . and your brother." Rebecca nods her understanding, and the man sighs again.

Those borderline-frustrated exhalations seem to be a thing of his, and he sighs several times more before she is allowed to leave the room.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**Stonewalling, August 2006**_

No one knows who they are, and no one can find records to tell them where they are from. No dental records, no fingerprints—her school in La Push never took them.

The psychiatrist assumes severe trauma and Rebecca doesn't correct her until the woman mistakes them for victims of domestic violence, and then Rebecca vehemently points out the conclusion couldn't be more wrong. This prompts several lines of squiggly text on the plain notepad, and Rebecca forces herself to stay indifferent for the rest of the session.

CPS labels them homeless and placement tests are conducted. Against all the pessimistic thoughts infecting her judgment, hope is sparked when they are placed temporarily in a group home so Ephraim can go to school.

Rebecca can only feel a strange sense of elation. Maybe this city has its name for a reason and a phoenix can truly rise out of the ashes.

A couple of months later, the courts have their say and Rebecca is now officially Rachel Brown and Ephraim is Jacob Brown. Shortly thereafter, Ephraim is lined up for foster care. She knows she is cruel, but she can't be in the same home as him; it would be like playing with fire and she is done burning those she loves.

"I won't be far away," she tells him, but she can't look at his face; she is afraid of what she will find there—and she doesn't want him to see the lies in her own eyes. Instead she holds on a little longer, and it isn't until the smiling woman who wanted to talk to them all those months ago pulls out of the driveway and takes him away that Rebecca allows herself to cry.

She still has a little time left until she turns eighteen, but once she is legal she will have to gather up her courage and distance herself. This is the only way to make sure that Nathan will never, ever find her brother.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**The Ugly Truth, February 2007**_

Ephraim keeps running away, and Rebecca keeps making sure he is brought back. They argue so much it gets to the point she doesn't know what to do anymore.

On the night of her birthday, Ephraim shows up at the group home. "Come on, Becca. Let's go. I can't be around those kids, and you're eighteen now. You can be my guardian."

She can't tell him she didn't bother fighting them when they labeled her a drug addict thanks to Nathan, but she also can't deny him some time. When he promises to go back to his foster family afterward, she gives in and sneaks out with him to go watch a fat moon in the sky.

They are silent under the pale glow. Ephraim fidgets, and gets up to walk around. Deep down she can feel something is about to change, but when he turns on her, he reconfirms she has just been blind all along.

"You always took me for a stupid kid, Becca. You didn't give me a choice, and you're going to do it again, aren't you? I can see it in your face . . . You're leaving, aren't you? You don't get to do that, Becca. Not again."

She deserves it, she knows, but it still hurts so much. "I'm sorry," she says before she can stop herself. "I'm just trying to protect you." He has seen her tears so she doesn't bother holding them back.

"But you're not!" he yells, and then he is pulling her off the ground. He shakes her, hard. "Stop lying to me. Stop treating me like I can't handle it! You got me into this and you should know nothing will make it better, so you don't get to walk away and leave me with all this hate to fight it alone. You don't!" His strength scares her, and as soon as she has slapped his face, she covers her own and collapses.

Still, he has her.

"I'm sorry!" she screams at the top of her lungs, and the fire is back and it seems to shoot right through her. "What else do you want me to do? I've done everything I can! I'm sorry I'm such a failure! I hate myself, and I hate him and I hate that I made our life such a fucking hell! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Fuck you," he snaps back, and shoves her away. "Fuck you and your sorries!"

He leaves her on the ground and she cries and cries until the chill steals her conscious.

**o~*iii*~o**

_**Point Of No Return, February 2007**_

She wakes up in the ER to someone clutching her hand tightly. She recognizes the quiet sobs—has she not heard them enough in the past year? He stops the moment she curls her fingers around his, instantly pulling free. The loss lasts only the seconds it takes him to throw his arms around her and press his face to her chest, and it's as if someone is reaching into her bones to break her from the inside out.

"I didn't mean it, Becca, I swear I didn't mean it." His desperation stabs her like Nathan's needles, only a thousand times over, and ten-thousand times worse. "I'm not any better," he cries in total submission, "I'm just as bad if not worse but it doesn't help, I'm still all fucked up and it's not your fault. Please believe me, Becca, please. We can do this together, just please don't leave."

Promises she knows she can't keep aren't worth giving, but her arms surround him for what feels like an eternity. She knows she loves him—he is her brother—yet for the first time since Rachel died she feels parts of him filling the frigid holes she thought would ache forever. It is enough to vow she will not take him anywhere near the places she will be going once she gets out of here.

**o~*iii*~o**


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

><p><em>We watched the rockets kiss the sky  I saw the flames burn out in your eyes. / "Unspoken," by HURTS_

* * *

><p><strong>o~*iii*~o<strong>

Rebecca has to leave, and for good.

Jen, the kind woman who seems like the splinter of hope in the middle of all the darkness, returns to Rebecca's hospital bed to talk to her and Ephraim. "Jacob's foster family is on their way. How are you feeling?"

Rebecca can't smile right now, but she does intend to answer until a stranger walking past stops, saving her from having to engage in polite talk. Normally she wouldn't find an interest in other people's conversations, but when a young girl obediently steps closer to the exuberant stranger woman, cradling her arm close to her chest, Rebecca notices the careful glance her way. The girl, too—like the woman who must be her mom, and is just like Jen—smiles, but it is achingly innocent and Rebecca has to avert her attention, turning to her brother.

He isn't looking at her; he keeps looking at the girl instead.

It isn't a big thing, and the world is still broken, and nothing will ever be right or the same, and he might not return the girl's smile either, but he doesn't look away.

She knows then that her brother is fixable, and she isn't, but she is dust and he is only in pieces, fragments that can be glued back together.

So many fragments. Still his eyes are on the girl.

**o~*iii*~o**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong> _

_And that was it, folks. It might seem like I am leaving Rebecca's story hanging, unresolved, but Fragmented was merely a spur of the moment thing, and it turned out a lot longer and wordier than I originally planned. I just wanted to give a little background on Jake's and Becca's time before they came to Phoenix._

_Thank you for reading and reviewing. It makes my day. All the love and snorgles._


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